Hakuba left Marie in the menagerie when he departed that morning for the market with the promise that he would return with a stunning new gift. The coachman took him right into the center of town, and he tipped his hat to him as he stepped down from the carriage. Once on the cobblestones, he gave instructions for his usual weekend pickup – “Eight pm sharp, right at that same location, please do not be late” – before sneaking a handful of oats to the big black horse that had brought them there.
Oats in the pocket of his overcoat was nothing short of evidence of his eccentric nature, but that was to be expected of the young and foolish heir to the Wickham Estate. He was well dressed, yes, and he played the part of the gentleman perfectly, but James Hakuba was not… typical.
Not that anyone really minded, of course, with how much he was worth annually. Anyone in his company was quite content indeed, and entertaining his follies was often very amusing. It seemed every month he had a different passion to follow, and eagerly dragged anyone even remotely interested with him along for the ride, swept up in the idealistic moments of romanticism and the bohemian dogma!
That day – a party cloudy, but beautiful day in early September – the young man started his Saturday routine with te and eclairs at his favorite cafe, a leisurely stroll at Regent’s Park to feed the ducks with the bakery’s day-old bread, visited the outdoor markets, enjoyed lunch while surveying the artists camped out at the Thames, went to a horse race (and won a small sum of money), garden party, and finally, finally, met up with his good author friends to go to the main event… the circus.
It wasn’t Astley’s Amphitheater, no, but it was a travelling circus. A display of the odd and unusual, the bizarre and sinister. Although the gentlemen that Hakuba travelled with were, on the whole, skeptical of that sort of thing, they all shared a certain fascination with the supernatural and unexplained.
This particular venue was expensive, too; each event requiring their own charges for the group. Hakuba covered it, of course, without a thought, and off they were whisked to the main tent to watch the show.
While waiting in the stands, the three of them discussed book ideas about detectives, murders, animal rights, human rights, and whether or not a phantom really could exist underneath an opera house. They each took out their notebooks and pens, and scribbled frantic notes.
“God, I hope there are cheetahs,” Hakuba said, voice wistful.
The other two glanced at him, then at each other, and shook their heads.
“You have a cheetah, James.”
“Yes,” Hakuba said, frowning. “I do. And she’s wonderful, but I think she might be lonely.”
“Whoever heard of a detective with an overgrown housecat on a leash? Honestly…”
Hakuba pulled off a piece of cotton candy to eat, sighing, and leaned back on the bench. Would there be elephants? Bears? Fire eaters? Exotic dancers? Ah, perhaps there would be Mesonychids, or creatures from Tasmania? How exotic.
But only time would tell as the lights fell over the audience, pointing the remaining strobes to the center ring.
“This is going to be spectacular, Arthur…"
"That remains to be seen, James.”
